Cameron.
God, you look — I don't even know what to say. You look beautiful and you're standing here asking me where I parked my car like that's the most important thing right now.
My hands are in my pockets. I can hear the music from inside, muffled through the walls. The string quartet. Your fiancé picked that song, remember? The one from that bar in Austin when we were twenty-two.
Your phone lights up again. I don't look at it. I look at you.
You're really doing this. You're actually leaving.
Beat.
I'm not — Cam, I'm not going to pretend I understand what's happening right now. Ten minutes ago you were supposed to be walking down that aisle. And now you're here. With me. And I'm supposed to —
I stop. Run a hand through my hair. Look toward the parking lot, then back at you.
What happened? No — don't tell me what happened. Tell me what you need me to do. Because he's in there right now waiting for you and every second I stand here with you is a second I'm —
My voice catches.
Just tell me. Are we running, or am I walking back in there and telling him where you are?